Shining Spirit

Excuse me, sir.  I’ve a question please.
Have you ever heard of a singing tree?
A decidedly common and everyday
bush that sings in the mornings and
simply won’t hush till folks walking
by in a late-to-work rush give ear and
applaud the sweet sound.

Well, let me think for a moment please.
Have I ever encountered a real singing
tree?  I’ve heard a horse whiney, a
moon struck dog howl, a lion in the
zoo give a terrible growl, but I’ve 
never been stopped in my tracks by
a tree that offered Bocelli or Elton to me.

Well, here then, my friend, is an offer
to see the remarkable gifts of this
curious tree.  Just stroll down my
street when the sun’s on the rise,
be prepared for a shock and a jolting
surprise, the melodious sounds of
this glorious tree.

(I haven’t the heart to tell in in words
that all he will hear are the songs of
the birds.  But that’s not bad!)

I really do have a singing tree!

“in the night also my heart instructs me.”   Psalm 16.7

When the sun has begun her slow descent
and darkness waits impatiently in the wings,
the bedside candle flameless and
covers pulled chin high,
a lesson is about to begin.
School is in session.

Sometimes in the early morning hours,
after a few nods of sleep,
I sense my heart speaking of the
day just done:
remembering and reminding,
consoling and confronting.
I hear the voiceless heart murmurs
in my soul, feel the tension
between love and indifference,
honesty and deception,
trust and betrayal.
The night’s lesson is both
a challenge and a caress,
always wrapped in love.

My mind asks gleefully to join the
conversation, ready with caveats
and excuses.  But minds are
not enrolled — too adamant,
too defensive.

Perhaps one day the night
lessons will end.  Course complete.
Graduation.  I doubt it.  Life won’t allow it.

Roger Pierce

“They are like trees planted by streams of water,
that yield fruit in due season, and their leaves
flourish; and in all that they do, they give life.”
Psalm 1

I rejoice in the Source of my strength,
the Quiet Stream that feeds the roots
of my trust and hope.

May the Healing Stream enter my body
and my spirit, find its way to all the arid
corners of my soul, and turn my dryness
into the delight of new life.

May all the leaves and blossoms that I
produce, the experiences and expressions
of my self, life moments, become examples
of the Creative Stream’s infilling.

And for the blessing of my nourishment,
may I walk gently shoulder to shoulder
with Kindness;
may my small voice join all who
lift songs of Peace;
may I stand arm in arm with Justice
as she speaks Truth to the universe.

May it be so.    In due season.

(Inspired by Psalm 1 in Praying The Psalms
by Nan Merrill)

We share the pain of our friends
when suffering comes.
“What horrible thing has happened
to you?”  He stood silently.  No response.
“What savage attack have you
sustained”?

Fixed on the jagged wound,
I sat by his side in painful silence.
Soon a playful wind invited the leaves
above me to dance and as branches
swayed with the celestial music, little
healing droplets of sunshine fell upon
my shoulders, gifts from a brilliant blue sky.
In the midst of it all, a faint soul whisper
rose in my saddened spirit.
“See with your heart.”
A transition from mind to heart, an
intentional shift from thinking to being.

Heart vision doesn’t change the object
seen, only the one who sees.  Heart vision
reformats the world and in that world I
float in the exhilaration of living rather
than sitting trapped in the suffering of
brokenness.  In the Heart World birds build
nests in his strong arms.  Lovers sit in the
cool shade of his glorious emerald canopy.
Winter snows wrap him in brilliant white
robes, and he laughs when the wind tickles
and teases.  With the wound and in spite of
the wound he lives.

He stands in his brokenness not with
resentment but with a resolute determination
to be, and all the while the universe applauds.

Sometimes in life,
often when least expected,
a technicolor day shows up.
A rainbow day just after
the storm when the clarity
of the arched ribbons of
luxurious colors hurts your
eyes.  An artist’s palette
day rich in texture and
shimmering in glorious
colors splashed onto the
world from the heart of
Imaginative Love.

So it was today.

As I rest my head on the
pillow, I find it difficult
to release the day.  Neither
of us wants to say goodbye.
Night is almost here, but he will
not be able to cloud my
sacred memory nor diminish
the joy that has burrowed
deep into my soul.  The brush
stroke of the One who paints
the day is gracefully indelible.

(On the occasion of celebrating
50 years of ordained ministry.)

My Friend reassured me:  “even though you get
lost in the darkest, deepest canyon
I will find you.”

Don’t worry.

I told my beautiful child:  “even though you make
mistakes or use poor judgment,
I will never stop
loving you.”

Be yourself.

My wife said to me:  “even though you left your
dirty socks on the bathroom floor, forgot to pick
up the cleaning, and overlooked the flashing
yellow warning light on the dashboard,
I’m stuck with you.
I love you.”

It’s all about “even though”, isn’t it;
and,
Living from a deeply spiritual place is all
about “even though.”

Even though…
–the mountains rumble and roar, I won’t be afraid;
–the day is filled with reports of suffering and
injustice, I will work against them;
–I question some of my long held beliefs
and traditions, I will trust;
–I wonder about the future,
given the present,
I will hope.
–I feel so unloved and unlovable,
I am loved.

It’s all about “Even Though”, isn’t it.

Amazing how creation portrays the Sacred Love
that is the foundation of all living things.  I’d like
to meet the wren that carved out the opening
in such a lovely form.  Watch for signs of the
Sacred everywhere you go.

Within the space of a few words,
the length of one short sentence,
the classroom sank into silence.
Joy vanished, laughter fled,
propelled by a single word:
Lockdown.

Second graders don’t often sit rigid
at their desks, eyes fixed on the one
who stretches their young minds.
No matter how many times she
told them not to be afraid,
they were.

Children watch television, overhear
conversations, whisper among themselves.
Danger has always been somewhere else.
Now the terrible possibility is just
beyond the chain link fence.
The stranger.  The gun.

“Be cautious on the playground.”
“Run to the nearest teacher.”
“Stay very quiet.  Be sure
all the doors are
locked.”

Recess used to be fun.
Not anymore.
Not now.

Sometimes beauty is obvious.  Sometimes you have to look a little harder.  But it’s always worth the effort.  May each of us see both the obvious and the not so obvious today, and may our awareness transform our world.

Some mornings it looks like the whole day is going to
be uphill, and then I remember…